"Y" is a crooked letter

“Mummy, what does blue taste like?”

My son asks.

As always, I am met with a constant bombardment of insistent chatter the moment I strapped him into his seat after picking him up from kindergarten.

“Hmm, what was that, love?” My mind is elsewhere, my day at work was particularly stressful.

“Blue, what does blue taste like?” He raises his voice because he is annoyed with me.

“Oh, ah love, I don’t know?” I push the brake as the traffic comes to a fast stop. I frown as my bag flies from the seat next to me onto the floor and grit my teeth to silence my frustration.

“Ask AI!” He yells.

I flinch.

“Hon, I need to focus,” my tone is sharp, too sharp. Calm down, Lisa, be nice.

I breathe in and out.

Pressing the mic button on the car.

I steady my voice.

“What does blue taste like?”

I knew what she would say, maybe she needed to close this conversation for us.

“I am sorry I do not understand.” Booms the speakers.

“No!” My son lets out a frustrated groan. “Stupid AI. Mummy ask it again.”

This car, come on let me into the lane.

“Mummy! Ask again!” He shouts.

I want to yell, I don’t.

“What was that song you like again love? Green Goblins party?” I manage.

He smiles at me in the rear-view mirror.

The song was grating and for him. Required it to be put on repeat.

“Yeah! Put it on!”

Dinner, bath, books and finally bed.

I have work again tomorrow, I would have to face her again.

I picture her eye rolling and her berating comment.

“Yawn.”

Meetings, I was careful when I spoke, what I shared. I was already late they had not told me the time was changed.

I only knew as I ran into the clinical manager picking up a coffee before it started.

I walk back with her, and we sit down together with our coffee cups in hand.

I enjoy this meeting; it was a good opportunity to use critical thinking.

“What about a behaviour review?” I suggest.

I leave the meeting feeling spritely and go to head to my desk.

“Lisa, a word?” The facility manager Janelle is relatively new.

An older lady in her sixties.

I follow her to her office and we take a seat.

Can’t be anything bad, I reassure myself.

“It’s my fault,” she says.

“I thought I already said your attendance wasn’t required.”

“The meeting is relevant to me though; I should have told you. My team encourage my inclusion”

“Well, no. Your left sided thinking,” she waves her hand.

We are both seated on armchairs.

I started seating comfortably, now I mimic her forced tense upright posture.

My heart races.

“You’re out of the box thinking, take it elsewhere, it doesn’t belong in the meetings.”

Something in me switches.

“I am a registered nurse.”

“Take it elsewhere, talk to the clinical management team about your ideas at another time. Your own funding specific meeting perhaps?”

I stand; I’m done.

“Ok. I will email my manager.”

“Lisa, I can email?”

“No, no. It’s fine,” I open the door and start walking.

I leave the facility.

I need somewhere to hide.

I walk to a close by shopping centre find a single room toilet.

My input. It was too much. Too much.

Flashbacks of my foster parent’s faces, one moment smiling and jovial in a flash twisted and angry.

My tears begin and I stifle the noise of my sobs.

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, I want to sit down and hug myself, not on a filthy toilet though.

Composure, compose yourself. You have to go back to work.

I survey my reflection; my pet dog is gravely unwell, that, that I could explain.

I sigh and start my walk back to the office.

The following morning, I have an appointment with my psychologist.

I am grateful for the impeccable timing.

I relay the story.

“When you think about her in that moment. What do you feel?” My therapist asks me.

I freeze; my mind is blanking. I can’t quite reach what I want to say.

“I know, it does not seem like that big of a deal.”

My tears come back so hard the centre of my forehead aches. I take off my scarf and cardigan as heat floods my body. The morning had started off cold.

I cross my arms across my chest, release them and indicate to myself.

“Why? Why me? What is wrong with me?”

My tears catch my lip and I taste their saltiness.

I can’t look at her.

Having someone present for this intensity of my emotions, it is confronting.

We talk some more.

“It’s ok to be different, to have out of the box thinking. Think of all that has been achieved by this,” she soothes.

I focus on her speaking, it calms me.

“The women who came up with new skin grafting idea for instance.”

I nod.

“Wouldn’t it be easier, wouldn’t I have fewer negative experiences if I could just, keep shrinking myself?”

I whisper looking down, less triggers, less despair, less moments of feeling downhearted and blue.

“That’s not on you Lisa. Their discomfort. Do not shrink yourself.”

Do not shrink yourself, you have choices now. Choices.

I walk out, I think about how she spoke of her quirky little house and I thought her home sounded charming. Me? Different and quirky?

My son?

I regulate myself before I pick him up that afternoon, the day has turned out very warm.

He runs to me at kindergarten.

“I have a surprise,” I tell him.

“A present?” He asks grinning wide; he gazes up at me. He has my soft brown eyes.

“You’ll see,” I say.

He is growing up too fast.

I bend down and give him a hug.

“I missed you today.”

He hugs me back, then lets me go and climbs into his car seat himself.

I strap him in and climb into the front seat and start the car.

We pull up at the beach.

Once we are changed, I take his hand and we run towards the water.

He squeals and jumps back as it touches his feet.

He’s heavy, I pick him up just the same.

“You know how you asked me what blue tastes like?” I say to him.

His brown eyes are shining.

“Your remembered?” He says to me.

Images flash to my mind.

My foster dad’s face twisting in anger when I asked why too many times. My foster mum, seeing his anger and simply joining in. “Y is a crooked letter and can’t be straightened.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, don’t answer back, would you quit talking already!”

“This, this is what blue tastes like,”

I laugh as a wave comes towards us; I rush us away from it.

Water splashes us and I taste the saltiness of the ocean. Gently I wipe the water from my son’s face.